


Jesus Hates Liars

by williamastankova



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Kissing, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ficlet, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Surprise Kissing, Tropes, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 08:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19292416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamastankova/pseuds/williamastankova
Summary: Crowley has a slip of the tongue and then, in the blink of an eye, his six thousand year old secret is out in the open.Based on that one dialogue prompt everybody loves so much; you'll know what I mean.





	Jesus Hates Liars

It's in the heat of the moment that he says it. Crowley is waiting as Aziraphale is bumbling about in the bookshop when he catches sight of the small angel, who at that very second happened to be busying himself tidying a shelf just out of his reach (seeming adamant he could do it without a ladder), and Crowley could barely register the affectionate grin spreading across his own features before he's speaking and suddenly the words he's worked so hard for six thousand years to avoid saying come flooding out, spilling past his lips.

"You look nice, angel," he admits aloud, never having complimented the angel in such a sincere way before, then the words are quickly followed by a swift admission of, "I'd like to kiss you."

Almost immediately after, his heart stops beating. Not that he needs it anyway, but it's a bad sign regardless, because it indicates utmost fear. His breathing stills, comes to a sudden halt, then stops entirely. His eyes shoot open, having never felt more awake in his life, and some foolishly hopeful part of him imagines that Aziraphale actually didn't hear him at all, or perhaps that the words were merely a figment of his imagination. As anticipated by the logical part of him, this theory was soon proven wrong.

The angel's gaze drops from the books he's trying oh-so hard to stuff back into the shelf and his arms fall to his sides. He's left gawking at Crowley, and his mouth falls open in utter disbelief and utmost shock. He appears to scramble for words, and Crowley can almost hear every response he conjures although he never utters any of them. He hears the _don't be ridiculous_ , and most of all he hears the tear-jerking  _get out of my sight_ , which is a chant - almost a sort of torturous mantra - that only makes him feel worse.

"I..." the angel finally settles with, then adds a soft, "What?"

Okay, now is the time for Crowley's racing mind to find a balance between working quickly and reaching a believable conclusion. He hits a few brick walls, primarily when he tries to think of ways that wanting to kiss somebody could be taken in a platonic manner. He shifts his tactic, deciding instead to find things that may perhaps sound like the declaration. He figures that Aziraphale wasn't wholly listening, so it might just pass to enter a stage of denial and rebut every claim the angel makes against this stance.

"I said," he pauses for dramatic effect, running the thought once more through his mind to check its validity, then finally saying aloud, "If you died, I wouldn't miss you."

Aziraphale's expression looks conflicted. On the one hand, this is absolutely something Crowley would say, because he's hardly - to put it lightly - the nicest person in the world. He's not a person at all, to begin with. He's a demon, so it's practically his life aspiration to be as rude and unpleasant as possible, which he's hoping is the only thing Aziraphale will use to reach his conclusion. On the other hand, he's not talking to some fellow demon or minute, unimportant human, he's talking to _Aziraphale_ , his sweet, blond angel, and he'd never try to hurt him, not ever.

The angel stares blankly at him for the longest time, and he can only stare back. His mind is just racing with _please_ , along every line of _please don't hate me_ , _please don't push it further_ , and to his dismay _please kiss me_. He hates hope, because more than often not it's deluded and disgraceful to his otherwise pristine responsibility. It's his job to be nihilistic, to not care what the angel thinks, and he thinks he's going to get fired sometime soon.

Aziraphale doesn't speak, and neither does he. It's a sort of waiting game, until the former begins to walk towards him. Along the way, he stops to deposit the books in his hand onto a nearby table or otherwise cluttered desk. Crowley merely watches as the angel comes closer and closer, coming to rest before him, standing proud and having no fear in his eyes as he looks up at the demon. He inhales sharply, then exhales, brushing down his beige clothes as he speaks.

"Go on, then," he insists, "Do it."

Crowley's left gawking down at Aziraphale. He can't believe his ears. Did the angel really just ask him to... no. Surely not. Surely it's a joke taken too far, perhaps he's not even talking about _kissing_. Yes, maybe it's just a grave misunderstanding. He has to take it like this, or he'll self-combust.

"Kill you?" He inquires, voice tipping upwards, confused.

Aziraphale gives him a pointed look. "You and I both know that's not what you said, Crowley."

And this is the point where Crowley's brain does into meltdown. He can pinpoint the exact moment, because he feels his brain begin to liquefy, and he's almost surprised when Aziraphale doesn't point it dripping out of his ears, staining his lovely flooring. He's ready to offer to pay for the cleaners - however many it takes - when suddenly he sees Aziraphale's hands coming towards his face.

His touch is ghost-like, gentle. He never once touches Crowley's face, but he gets close enough - tantalisingly close - as he nimbly plucks his glasses, raising them from their station on the bridge of his nose, and removes them. He exits the engagement only momentarily, so that he can lay the dark spectacles on the table beside his stack of books, then he's suddenly back in front of Crowley, who's suddenly finding it impossible to breathe steadily.

He can only watch as Aziraphale draws nearer. There's trepidation in his movements, however, and it seems like the angel is waiting for something. Only half a minute later does he finally realise his wording, and in turn he then knows just what Aziraphale is waiting for. Even so, he feels frozen. How can he kiss the man when he can't even move his eyes? How can he remember how to woo him when his fingertips feel so numb?

Aziraphale embodies patience as he looks up at Crowley through his blonde lashes. There's something teasing about his gaze, but not once does Crowley feel mocked. He doesn't feel put off, in fact he feels encouraged by this look. It tells him that this isn't changing things, not really, and even though they're about to kiss (if Crowley regains any sort of self-control) they're still who they've always been - or, rather, what they've always been.

He feels as though he's a revenant when a sudden sharp intake of air fills his lungs once more. He's never felt more of a rush, never felt more alive as when he takes the swift step forwards to bring them closer together. He takes Aziraphale into his arms, who seems taken aback but not wholly upset at the motion. He can only flounder, throwing his arms about and landing them on Crowley's arms to steady himself. He finally meets Crowley's gaze again, and there's a hint of a smirk that Crowley bears witness to.

"I said," Crowley's voice is a whisper now, his entire body shaking with excitement and terror and mainly a racing thought of _oh, dear Satan, this is happening now_ , "You look nice, and I'd like to kiss you."

"Well, then," Aziraphale matches his quiet tone, and it feels as though the rest of the world doesn't exist, as if they are the modern Adam and Eve, alone in the world together, "You'd better do it, hadn't you?"

That's what he needs. Hearing this, he dips his head and presses his lips to Aziraphale's, receiving an eager response almost immediately. The angel's hands slip from his arms to his neck, fingertips dipping into his red hair, searing and searching for more. Crowley couldn't tell what he's looking for if his life depended on it, but he does know that the feeling of Aziraphale's nails scratching against his scalp, leaving the feeling there for just a second, is real, and for this reason and so many others he loves it.

Aziraphale kisses softly. This is something Crowley had anticipated, in his weak moments where he let himself believe this was even a possibility. However, the gentle demand of the angel's fingers in his hair is not something he had thought of beforehand, and neither was the subtle harshness of how his lips pressed to the demons. Crowley's wandering mind led him to believe that maybe, just maybe, Aziraphale had been waiting to do this for a while, too.

When they part, they're hardly  _breathless_ , like Crowley's seen so many people say before. The kissing isn't exhausting - it's exhilarating. He loves every moment of it, and he frankly never wants to stop. To his good fortune, they never have to, not strictly speaking anyway, because they don't really _need_  to breathe. However, as his mind races, urging words to tumble out of his mouth, he decides now to be the best time to utter them, to sate his mind, to enable them to continue undisturbed afterwards. He pulls back, still hanging rather close to the angel in his arms, and confesses.

"I love you, angel."

He receives a knowing smile, and a warm, reciprocal glance. Aziraphale asks, more specifically, "For how long, Crowley?"

"Forever," Crowley admits, only now feeling breathless, like a great weight has been lifted from his ancient shoulders. He can finally admit his millennia-long crush - more than crush, actually - without the fear of being rejected, because Aziraphale is still here, still in his arms, still curled up against his chest, their redundant heartbeats in sync and in love.He pauses for a moment, sighs, and he can finally tell himself the truth, and say it aloud to his angel simultaneously.

"Since the very beginning."


End file.
